


Second Star to the Right

by sherleigh



Category: SHINee
Genre: Gen, Slice of Life, but in a dystopian au, eve is a major character, gratuitous use of space themes, i wonder how shinee feel about people writing fanfiction about their dogs, mostly platonic taekey, possible romance if you squint hard enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-11-08 03:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17973416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherleigh/pseuds/sherleigh
Summary: Kibum tries to navigate life in a post-apocalyptic world.





	1. Polaris

**Charon**

 

Minho has been gone for a day and a half already.

 

Kibum squints as he looks up at the afternoon sun; despite stinging his eyes, it is already fading and, together with it, the chances that Minho will return alive.

 

Kibum has already searched as far as he dares venture. Fear and self-recrimination vie for dominance in the shattered landscape of his mind. He should never have let Minho go out alone, no matter how small the distance, no matter how brief the period. Safety is an illusion, and they were fools to forget it.

 

He’s never strayed this far from the base before, but he’s desperate. He can’t spend another night alone. Out here is wilderness, untamed by any human hand. Wild tapioca plants dot the unfamiliar landscape. He takes as many tubers as he can carry; food is hard to come by. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Minho will have returned when he gets home and they can have a good meal.

 

Something rustles in the underbrush.

 

Kibum pulls his knife out of its sheath, fingers tight around the handle, and glances up at the sun. It’s still bright. His heart races; if there’s more than one or two of them, this will be the end of him. Maybe this is what happened to Minho.

 

That thought angers him and he prepares himself to attack.

 

The leaves rustle again, and then they part. The thing that emerges is human-sized and shaped, but grotesque. Its scalp and neck are red and exposed, the skin having rotted with the infection that turned it from human to monster. Kibum lashes out with his knife before it can reach him. He aims for its neck, but it ducks sideways; the blade catches on its shoulder and it falls to the ground with an inhuman wail, wrenching the knife out of his hand.

 

Kibum bolts.

 

**Dione**

 

Kibum gets halfway back to base before common sense kicks in. He needs to turn back. One, he needs to get his knife back. Two, he can’t leave that thing alive. He’s never seen one come this far up before and where there is one, others will follow.

 

The very thought saps the strength from Kibum’s knees.

 

For Minho, he tells himself. He can’t let that thing wander around, wounded and dangerous, for an unsuspecting Minho to run into. The thought that Minho might have run into it already is quickly stomped into oblivion; he can’t afford to lose hope now.

 

With his Swiss Army knife, Kibum cuts a switch and sharpens the end into a cruel taper. And then, he goes hunting.

 

**Deimos**

 

The edge of the forest where he ran into thing is now empty. Kibum cautiously approaches, his rudimentary spear raised and ready to strike at the slightest hint of movement.

 

There are signs of disturbance though. Here and there are bent leaves and trampled plants.

 

And blood.

 

That stops Kibum for a moment. He’s never known these things to bleed before. Then again, hidden away in their base, he and Minho haven’t exactly been studying the creatures; perhaps they don’t bleed from their rotten parts, but can bleed when stabbed.

 

He follows the trail of blood deeper into the forest. The late afternoon air is muggy, oppressive. It’s silent and not, in the strange way that he’s become used to. And then, somewhere on his left, Kibum hears it; the giveaway sound of something larger than a rat moving through the undergrowth.

 

He hefts his spear, ready to strike, and follows the noise.

 

A flash of skin.

 

It must have caught scent of him, because it suddenly starts moving faster, shuffling and swaying in a pale imitation of running. Kibum chases it, closing the gap to ensure that his spear finds its mark, when suddenly he catches a blur of movement approaching from his right.

 

Something small and brown, moving too fast for him to determine what it is; all he can see is fangs bared and it comes towards him. Animals have been unaffected by the disease so far, but maybe it’s spread?

 

Kibum swings around, ignoring his prey, and raises his arm to throw his spear at this new threat.

 

There’s a loud crash behind him. Kibum freezes, trapped between one death and another, but then the thing dives past him and barrels right into the animal. The animal yelps, giving away that it’s a dog, and the two creatures roll to a halt in front of him.

 

Kibum braces himself, ready to stab the first creature that moves.

 

But nothing happens. He hears the dog whining, but the creature just wraps itself tighter around it.

 

And then he sees. Not a raw, rotten scalp, but red hair, dirty and matted. Fresh blood staining what was once a cream and orange jumper. Not one of them, but a human. A boy.

 

“Yah,” Kibum says, hesitant, not quite believing his eyes.

 

The body wrapped around the dog uncurls a little.

 

“Are you… are you human?”

 

The boy sits up slowly, his arms wrapped around a dog that’s wagging its tail and trying to lick his face. He looks up at Kibum – at the spear in his hand – from underneath an overgrown fringe, eyes wide and frightened. Then, he slowly nods.

 

“Yah,” Kibum lets out a heavy breath “can’t you speak? I nearly killed you. Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

The boy shakes his head.

 

Kibum feels a rush of shame; it was a throwaway comment, he didn’t mean to pick on the boy’s disability.

 

“Are you alone?”

 

The boy nods.

 

“Really?”

 

The boy nods again.

 

Kibum feels like he’s being a gullible idiot to believe him. Humans, if there are any left, are as dangerous as them. He’s watched enough dystopian movies to know that anyone who survives something like this is likely to be a psychopath with a barbed wire bat creepily named after his mother or grandmother or some shit like that; the sort of psychopath who would think nothing of using a child like this as a pawn.

 

If that is the case, Kibum should finish what he started earlier.

 

More than anything, Kibum wishes that Minho were here, so that this decision didn’t rest on his shoulders alone. Kibum glances up at the sky, at the dull orange glow of the setting sun peeking in through the thick canopy, and back down again at the boy sitting at his feet.

 

“You better come with me. That wound needs to be treated.”

 

**Nyx**

 

The base, as Kibum and Minho call it, is a holiday home tucked away on the edge of the forest. It’s owned by one of Minho’s father’s friends and managed – or was – by two elderly sisters. The town is a good half hour away by car. Kibum had joked to Minho that it was the perfect set-up for a slasher movie and Minho replied that millionaires probably didn’t watch too many horror movies to be aware of the danger. Those were simpler times.

 

The sun has all but set by the time Kibum and his guest make it back. The boy is pale and swaying on his feet, bleeding freely from the wound in his shoulder. Kibum’s knife is lost.

 

As he opens the door, Kibum sends a prayer heavenward that Minho will be there waiting for him.

 

God, if he exists, does not hear him.

 

The house is empty, silent. Kibum lets his guest in and jams a heavy wooden chair under the knob; a simple but necessary precaution. They had moved all of the furniture to cover the windows and doors, except the front door, to prevent anything from getting in.

 

“We’ll clean the wound first,” Kibum says, guiding the boy to the bathroom. There isn’t running water anymore, but there is a tub that they keep filled with water from the pump outside. “Then we can eat something. Okay?”

 

The boy nods.

 

Kibum sits him on the floor next to the tub. “You’ll need to take your clothes off.” It sounds wrong even to him, and the boy reacts to the instruction with obvious distress. “I just mean… I’ll have to wash the wound and your clothes will get wet. Plus they’re bloody. I’ve got more clothes, I’ll lend you some of mine after we’re done.”

 

That calms them both. The boy takes his jumper and jeans off and Kibum’s heart skips a beat at how thin and starved he looks.

 

“Hey,” Kibum says, sitting next to him. He’s got a dipper full of water and the precious first aid kit that he and Minho have been saving. The boy looks nervous, so Kibum talks to him as he cleans the wound; nonsense chatter about the weather and the many ways he’s learnt to cook tapioca. It’s admirable, how strong the boy is; the wound needs stitches and he’s shivering by the time Kibum is done, but he allows Kibum to work without complaint, shaking his head whenever Kibum asks him whether he wants a break.

 

Kibum keeps up the chatter as he shreds and boils the tapioca into porridge for dinner. There is a kitchen, but he doesn’t dare use it after dark. Instead, he kindles some embers in the fireplace in the living room and does his cooking there.

 

If it were just him and Minho, that porridge alone would be dinner. But the boy looks so underfed, and Kibum still feels guilty for stabbing him, so he retrieves a precious can of tuna from the stash under the floorboards. Of the box of 24 he had found in the kitchen when they decided to barricade the place, now only 6 remain. They had been too indulgent with the food in the early days, believing that the infection would be brought under control or, failing that, that they would be rescued.

 

In the silence of the night, broken only by the faint bubbling of the pot, the sound of the lid being peeled back is loud.

 

The scent of tuna hits the air and not a moment later, the little dog is dancing around Kibum’s feet, jumping at him, whining and begging. The boy taps the floor; in the dim light of the fire, Kibum can see him grow frustrated when the dog doesn’t obey his command. “It’s fine,” he says “I like dogs. He’s not bothering me.” Whilst this animal looks more like an overgrown rat than a dog, he’s already warmed his way into Kibum’s heart; enough to be granted a few bites of tuna as Kibum empties the can into the porridge.

 

Kibum serves the boy first. Tapioca and canned tuna is a terrible combination, but who can afford to be picky? Not them. He’s just served himself when he turns to see the boy attacking his bowl as if he’s not eaten for a week. The porridge is still hot and it must burn, but he scoops it up with his fingers and shovels it into his mouth as if someone will take it from him.

 

The pathetic sight makes Kibum’s heart ache again. Poor thing, he thinks. He’s been feeling so sorry for himself since Minho went missing, but at least he’s had a roof over his head and enough food to eat.

 

Remembering Minho kills his appetite. Kibum eats a few bites because he has to, and offers the remainder to the boy.

 

When the boy hesitates, Kibum reassures him. “It’s okay, I’ve already eaten today.” The sight of the boy and his dog eating is oddly satisfying, more so than food.

 

When they’re done, Kibum extinguishes the fire and begins preparations for sleeping. In darkness, he lays out the mattress that he and Minho share, covering it with the sheet that has been worn thin by washing. A little moonlight streams into the room through the thin ventilation shafts near the ceiling, and in the moonlight,

 

The boy climbs on, not as hesitant anymore, and looks at him questioningly when he doesn’t.

 

“I’ll keep watch,” Kibum lies. He doesn’t feel comfortable enough to sleep, not with Minho missing, not when he’s still not certain that the boy is alone. “You can sleep first and I’ll wake you when it’s your turn.”

 

It takes no time at all for the boy to succumb. His soft breaths punctuate the silence of the night. His dog, ever loyal, curls up by his side.

 

Finally, Kibum can let his guard down. He sighs, dropping his head on his knees. What is he doing? He’s still pretty much a child himself, how is he supposed to care for this boy? And what about Minho? Is this really how it ends for them?

 

In the darkness, he cries silently.

 

**Io**

 

“What’s your name?”

 

The boy looks at him curiously, as if asking how he’s meant to answer that question.

 

Kibum continues with his self-appointed task of combing out the matted strands of his hair. It’s clearly dyed, but only recently, given how his black roots are hardly noticeable. His parents probably allowed him to dye it for the summer break, just like Kibum and Minho’s parents allowed them to spend a week at a holiday home. One decision proved to be a life-saver, and the other decision very nearly proved fatal.

 

“If you trace the characters on my hand or something, I can make them out.”

 

The boy takes Kibum’s hand in his and spells out in order: ieung, i, bieup, eu.

 

“Eve?”

 

The dog, who’s been grooming himself, perks up at the sound of Kibum’s voice. His tail starts wagging, but when the humans don’t show any signs of wanting to play, he quickly loses interest in them.

 

“Yah, I didn’t ask for the dog’s name, I asked for yours.”

 

The boy shrugs.

 

“You don’t know? Or you won’t tell me? What, you’re not a celebrity or something, right? Even then, I don’t think it matters anymore.”

 

But the boy remains stubbornly uncommunicative. Kibum doesn’t really mind; everyone has their hang-ups. Maybe this kid really hates his name or something.

 

“Aigoo,” Kibum teases. “Poor thing, you can’t run around without a name. Hyung will name you, don’t worry.”

 

That makes the boy smile, and oh, what a pretty smile it is. Kibum feels the corners of his lips stretch up in a grin as well, for the first time in so many days.

 

“Let’s see… Won Bin?”

 

That gets him a huge frown.

 

“Okay, not Won Bin. What about Tom Cruise?”

 

The boy makes an X with his arms, wincing a little when the movement pulls on his injured shoulder.

 

Kibum plays for a while, throwing out ridiculous suggestions just to get the boy to react, but after a while he starts thinking of proper names. He can’t keep calling him ‘the boy’ forever.

 

At first, he thinks of Annie or Matilda, orphans who find a home, and tries to think of a male equivalent, but as he’s doing so, he recalls an anime about a man who ends up adopting a stray raccoon-child. “What about Darwin?”

 

The boy seems to understand that this suggestion is a genuine one. He thinks on it, waiting until Kibum is done with untangling his hair to give him a thumbs up.

 

So Darwin he is.

 

**Callisto**

 

Morning rolls by gently. The silver moonlight that shone through the ventilation shafts is replaced by pink and pale gold. Kibum never truly appreciated sunrise before. Between waking up before dawn to get ready for school and sleeping in on weekends, it’s just something he never gave much thought to. He was always more of a night owl anyway, chatting with his friends or watching pointless videos late into the night.

 

Now, without electricity, his body clock has reverted to a primitive state. He rises and sleeps with the sun.

 

Kibum felt like he was going mad, but Minho thrived. Silly jock boy, Kibum thinks, remembering how Minho would wake him up cheerfully to get started on their numerous daily chores. Who’s going to wake him up now?

 

As if on cue, Eve stretches and yawns. Darwin doesn’t stir, not even when the dog wriggles out of his grasp and waddles over to Kibum, wary but with a wagging tail.

 

“Here boy,” Kibum calls softly, holding his fingers out. Eve sniffs them, butts his head against them and allows Kibum to scratch him behind the ears. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

 

To think that these runts survived when an entire town perished. Kibum still can’t quite wrap his head around it.

 

When the sun is fully out, Kibum unbars the door and goes out. There’s much to do; water to be pumped, to drink and to refill the tub in the bathroom, a vegetable garden to tend to and hopefully, tomatoes to harvest. Minho to search for.

 

Today, Kibum goes down the hill.

 

The dirt path that leads up to the house has almost disappeared. Once, the edges were trimmed with military precision, but there are no gardeners to hold the plants back anymore. He follows the disappearing path right down to the turning from the road.

 

The rock that he and Minho had rolled onto the path is still there. Weeds have sprouted at its base, curling their tender vines around the rock. No one has disturbed it. Perhaps no one ever will.

 

There are no signs of Minho; no signs of struggle or death. It’s as if he just disappeared off the face of the earth.

 

Heart heavy, Kibum treks back to base. There is a vegetable garden at the back of the house. When Minho’s uncle had given them the keys, he told them that the old sisters made the best kimchi from their own cabbages and asked them to bring some back for him.

 

The sisters are long dead, but Kibum thanks them every day. It is thanks to them that he and Minho – and now Darwin and Eve – have more to eat than just tapioca. Their vegetable patch is a thing of beauty. It has tomatoes and plums and watermelon, pumpkins and cabbage and herbs that Kibum can’t even name. There was bok choi too, but those died fairly quickly under Kibum’s inexperienced hands.

 

As he suspected, there are some ripe tomatoes on the vines. He chooses four to eat today and takes six more to turn into a paste. He can make soup from it or use it to flavour their usual tapioca porridge.

 

Darwin is wide awake when Kibum returns; he comes running to the door, to Kibum’s bemusement.

 

“Look,” Kibum says, displaying his haul. “We’ll have these for lunch.”

 

He expects to have to protect the tomatoes from Darwin’s ravenous appetite, but Darwin’s reaction is something else entirely. He grabs Kibum’s wrist, tugging him inside, and drags the chair to bar the door.

 

“Hey, what are you doing?” Kibum tries to move the chair away, but Darwin stands between him and the door, spreading his arms and shaking his head desperately. He looks so distressed that Kibum can’t even get angry with him. “What’s wrong?”

 

Darwin just shakes his head.

 

Kibum takes in his stance, the way he blocks the door, and puts two and two together. “Are you trying to say that it’s not safe?”

 

That gets him a nod.

 

“That there are… those things out there?”

 

Another nod.

 

“Did you come up from the town?”

 

Darwin nods again, his face tight with misery. Kibum knows; he ventured down once with Minho, in the early days, and saw things that still haunt him to this day. That was the one and only time they’ve been down the hill; that was the day they decided to roll a boulder across the road leading up to the house.

 

“It’s okay,” Kibum says softly. “It’s safe up here.” Even as he says it, it feels like he’s tempting fate, but he keeps his own insecurities hidden for Darwin’s sake. “I promise, you’re safe. Nothing comes up here, and certainly not in the daytime. I just patrolled the area.”

 

It’s obvious that Darwin doesn’t quite believe him.

 

“Look, the kitchen is just behind here.” Kibum points towards the east end of the house; there used to be a door between the kitchen and living room, but they moved a huge cupboard across it. Now the kitchen is only accessible from the outside. “I just need to process these tomatoes. You can stay inside here. You should be resting, actually.”

 

Darwin shakes his head. Kibum looks at his shoulder. He’s wrapped it in a meagre strip of gauze and it’s dotted with dried blood; a good sign, at least.

 

“Do you want to come with me?”

 

And that’s how he gets a bodyguard. He gives Darwin his Swiss Army knife and lets him ‘stand guard’ as he makes quick work of the six tomatoes. Withour refrigeration, nothing lasts long; they’ll have tomatoes for both lunch and dinner today.

 

“So, how old are you?”

 

Darwin holds up two hands, all five fingers outstretched. Fifteen, to Kibum’s surprise. He looks no more than twelve. “Ah, you’re ten?” he says, just to tease.

 

Darwin stomps his foot.

 

“I’m your hyung,” Kibum continues, stating the obvious. “You can call me Key-hyung if you want, like, in your head. Some of my friends call me Key.” His American friends, his water-skiing buddies who can’t quite wrap their tongues around Kibum. He wonders whether they know about the situation in Korea, whether they thought of him then, whether they will recall memories of him in the future. When was the list time he went water-skiing? Whenever it was, it never crossed his mind that it would be the last time.

 

Darwin nudges him lightly, and Kibum realises that he’s daydreaming.

 

The tomato paste is ready. Using the tiniest shakes of pepper and salt from the half-full mills, Kibum flavours the paste. With herbs, he can afford to be a little more generous. As he shreds various leaves and works them into the paste, Darwin watches curiously.

 

“I’m going to make soup with this tonight,” he explains. “Sounds good, right?”

 

Darwin nods in agreement. Given the way he attacked the tuna and tapioca concoction Kibum made last night, it’s hardly a ringing endorsement, but one that please Kibum nonetheless.

 

When he’s done, Kibum washes the four tomatoes he set aside earlier and fills two bowls with water; the latter, he hands to Darwin. “Come on,” he says, leading Darwin out of the kitchen to the small patio at the back. It’s a small, roofless space behind the kitchen bordered by high walls. The sisters used it as a wet kitchen.

 

The ground is tiled, but grass is slowly growing in the cracks. Kibum sits, and Darwin carefully does too.

 

“Look.” Kibum tilts his head at the sky, at the sun shining down on them and the grey clouds drifting across the vast expanse of blue. It’ll probably rain soon, but now, the air is nice and cool. Somewhere in the distance, insects chirp.

 

Darwin looks up for a long time, even after Kibum’s handed him his tomatoes, and then he turns to look at Kibum. There’s something in his eyes, something sad, and Kibum reaches out to pat his cheek gently. He feels it too; this sadness, this aching loneliness.

 

**Ganymede**

 

It scares Kibum a little, how quickly he’s become attached to Darwin and Eve. He realises this on the second night, as he stays up watching over them. Darwin has been somewhat feverish since evening – hardly surprising considering the seriousness of the wound and how much dirt it must have been exposed to in the forest – and when he becomes restless in his sleep, Kibum is overtaken by the urge to stroke his hair and soothe him.

 

It’s as if the universe took Minho away and gave him Darwin and Eve as compensation.

 

As he’s lost in thought, Darwin wakes up, slightly startled. Maybe he was having a nightmare. Maybe he’s still not used to this place.

 

“Hey, I’m here,” Kibum says, and feels stupid immediately after. It’s not like he’s the boy’s mother or something, that his mere presence is something Darwin is supposed to feel comforted by.

 

But somehow, that’s what happens. Darwin perks up at the sound of his voice and reaches out blindly, patting Kibum’s face with his tiny hand.

 

Then, to Kibum’s surprise, he sits up and points at himself. Kibum doesn’t quite understand what he’s trying to say until he remembers the lie he told last night about keeping watch.

 

“Ah, it’s okay,” he says. It’s not, though. He needs to sleep. And all of a sudden, he feels the weight of the past few days weighing on him. Darwin starts to get up, but Kibum stops him. “No, you don’t have to keep watch. We can both sleep. Really.”

 

He climbs on the mattress beside Darwin, leaving a gap between them. The mattress feels like heaven to his tired limbs and he closes his eyes, fully relishing the pleasure that he deprived himself of since Minho went missing.

 

He's not quite asleep yet when he senses movement next to him. It's Darwin, shuffling closer and closer to Kibum until the length of his back is pressed against Kibum’s side.

 

Sweet Darwin, Kibum thinks, as he falls asleep.

 

 

 


	2. Sirius

**Janus**

 

Trouble is never far away.

 

Kibum wakes up to Darwin clinging to him in search of warmth, his body a furnace.

 

If he’s this sick, there’s only one reason; the wound is infected. Kibum goes to peel away the thin strip of gauze covering it, but he doesn’t need to. The gauze is sticky and oozing, and Kibum’s uneasy heart starts racing.

 

“Darwin, wake up,” he says, shaking him when Darwin fails to respond immediately. “Yah, wake up!”

 

With a groan, Darwin opens his eyes. Then he groans again, this time sounding pained. He reaches for the wound, but Kibum catches his hand before he can touch it.

 

“Hey, we need to clean your wound. It’s a little dirty.” Kibum avoids the word ‘infection’, because it is such an ominous word, but Darwin seems to have guessed anyway, because he’s wide awake at once, alert. He goes pale when he sees the dirty bandage and looks to Kibum with wide, panicked eyes.

 

Kibum’s heart skips a beat. What does Darwin expect him to do? Swallowing his fear, Kibum says “It’s not dangerous, don’t worry. We just need to clean it and you’ll be fine. I mean, you see me and not a huge walking steak, right?”

 

He chatters away while ushering Darwin to the bathroom, hoping to calm them both with his unfunny jokes. It works right until he peels the bandages away to reveal a raw, infected wound; it hits him that he’s the one who did this to Darwin and he feels so sick that his voice fails him.

 

But Darwin is as sweet as the song Kibum named him after. He pats Kibum’s knee and smiles at him, trying to reassure him when he should be vengeful or angry instead. Kibum’s eyes cloud with tears, but the apology on the tip of his tongue is still too heavy to let fall. It’s hard to apologise when he knows he has to hurt him even more; there’s really no painless way to clean an infected wound.

 

Darwin bears it all with grace.

 

This time, Kibum is generous with the antiseptic and gauze. There’s no point trying to preserve everything for a decade if there’s no one to preserve it for.

 

**Sycorax**

 

“Tuna?”

 

Darwin shakes his head, his mouth curved into an unhappy frown.

 

Kibum sighs. No matter how much he tries to convince Darwin to eat, no matter what he tempts him with, the boy just shakes his head and tries to hide inside the sheets.

 

“Look, I know you don’t feel well, but you’re not going to get better if you don’t eat. What about a nice, fresh tomato?”

 

When the sun goes down and the air becomes cooler, Darwin starts shivering. His fever still hasn’t broken. Kibum isn’t expecting a miracle recovery, but this deterioration worries him more than he dares to admit, even to himself. He’s just a student and all he has is a first-aid kit that is fast depleting. There is nothing he can do for Darwin, no way he can save him.

 

He can’t lose him too.

 

Despite not being particularly cold himself, Kibum retrieves one of the heavier winter blankets from the cupboard and wraps them both up in it. He wraps his body around Darwin’s, feeling a little awkward at first. “You’ll be fine,” he says, not knowing who that statement is meant to reassure, Darwin or himself. “This fever just means that your body is fighting the infection. Anyway, there’s a pretty stream about half an hour away from here, have you seen it?”

 

Darwin doesn’t respond.

 

“I’ll take you there when you get better. You can hear the stream before you see it, like a soft harp or something. And as you get closer you can smell the water too. It’s not salty like the sea air. And the water is so clear. You can see the rocks at the bottom and if you stand in it, there’s little fish that sometimes nibble at your feet-” Kibum’s voice breaks then.

 

He buries his face in Darwin’s hair, trying to hold back tears. He barely knows Darwin. It’s only been a handful of days since he came stumbling into Kibum’s life, but the thought of losing him is unbearable.

 

Concentrating so hard on keeping his tears at bay, Kibum nearly misses the words whispered by a voice that is not his own.

 

“I’m scared of dying.”

 

At first, he thinks he imagined it. “Darwin?”

 

“Mmmh?” Kibum tries to pull away a little, to get a closer look at Darwin’s face, but Darwin follows his movement to keep his face buried in Kibum’s shoulder. “Don’t go.”

 

“I’m not…” Kibum is reeling with shock. So Darwin can speak after all. Why has he been pretending to be mute? But before he can get lost in the mystery of Darwin’s selective muteness, the full force of what Darwin said hits him. “Yah, you’re not going to die, so there’s nothing to be scared of. I’m here, Eve is here, and we won’t let anything bad happen to you, okay?”

 

Kibum prays for it to be true.

 

**Iapetus**

 

The new day brings with it new hope – and new grievances.

 

Kibum’s initial joy at waking up with a fever-free, sweaty and no-longer-delirious Darwin in his arms had soon been replaced by a vague, irrational irritation.

 

He tries telling himself that Darwin has reasons of his own for not wanting to talk, but it disturbs him nonetheless. He’s been so bereft of conversation since Minho disappeared and whilst Darwin’s presence does alleviate the loneliness somewhat, it doesn’t make up for having another person to speak with. To think that Darwin selfishly received all of the benefit of Kibum’s company and gave so little in return, when it would have cost him nothing. Does Darwin find him funny, Kibum wonders, a fool chattering at someone who can’t be bothered to exchange even a single word with him.

 

He takes a bath, thinking that it would make him feel better. And it does, for a while. As he dumps dipper after dipper of cold water over himself, carelessly, his frustration melts away. That Darwin is alive and well is all that matters; everything else can be worked out. Maybe he has good reasons for not speaking. After all, Kibum did spear him. Maybe he was afraid, until the fever got rid of his fears. Who knows? He shouldn’t immediately assume the worst.

 

And then he’d come out of the bathroom to the sight of Darwin rooting through Minho’s drawer.

 

“What are you doing?” The volume of his own voice shocks Kibum – he’s so used to diminishing his presence that he’s forgotten what it’s like to shout – and Darwin too, but right now he can’t bring himself to care. “Don’t you have any manners? Do you think you can just go through other people’s things without even asking them?”

 

He strides over and slams the drawer shut, narrowly missing Darwin’s fingers. “You don’t get to touch this, ever!”

 

Instead of being sorry, Darwin dares to look affronted. As if he isn’t living in Kibum’s house, eating his food and wearing his clothes without having to contribute anything in return.

 

Kibum pulls his own drawer open, pulls things out at random and tosses them at Darwin. “This, you can use. And wash the clothes you have on now, and dry them too. I’m not your maid.”

 

Darwin flips the bird at him and slams the bathroom door, as if he only has these avenues to show his displeasure at Kibum; as if he can’t voice his displeasure instead.

 

So he’s going to keep up this pretense, Kibum thinks, temper flaring. He looks for something to take his anger out on and his eyes land on Eve, who’s standing in the corner of the room with his tail tucked between his legs, and with a rush, that anger turns to shame. He’s not twelve to be reacting like this.

 

He needs space.

 

As much as he likes Darwin, being cooped up with someone all day and all night is bound to sour any relationship.

 

“I’m going out!” Kibum yells – and his temper worsens just that little bit more when he doesn’t get a response from a still-pretending-to-be-mute Darwin.

 

Outside, the sun is bright and cheerful as if it is personally mocking Kibum.

 

It’s only been a day since Kibum has been out, but it already feels like an alien terrain. His heart beats an uneasy rhythm and he becomes uncomfortably aware of how exposed he is. All that shouting and banging about, how far would those sounds have carried in a world without the noise of humanity?

 

**Telesto**

 

Tapioca hunting.

 

It’s a job Kibum despises, but with much guilt. They would probably be dead without the abundance of tapioca that grows wild in the brush surrounding the house; without it, he and Minho would have had to go into the town for food, and there they would have met gruesome ends.

 

But that might have happened anyway, to Minho. Of the two of them, he is the better man; if any one of them had to die, it should have been Kibum.

 

Kibum shakes the thought away.

 

Tapioca.

 

He hates the taste of it, that floury blandness that persists no matter cooking method he uses. But, whenever it is time to eat, he’s so hungry that the first bite of roasted or boiled or mashed tapioca always tastes like ambrosia. At any other time, though, the memory of its taste makes him want to lie down and give up; if tapioca is all that his future holds, it’s a future he rather not live to see.

 

As distracted as he is, Kibum wanders far further than he intended to. He only realises it when he comes upon an unfamiliar thicket full of burdock plants; he scolds himself for growing so complacent that he didn't even notice that he'd wandered further than is safe, but he’s also pleased. Burdock root will be a welcome change, Kibum thinks, mind racing with different recipes he can try out with the roots. And he can pick some leaves to brew into tea too.

 

It’s no easy task, though, harvesting the burdock roots. Kibum pricks his hands on the thorny plants and often times, the roots he so painstakingly turns up are too old to be eaten. He’s not learnt the technique of digging up burdock, so he gets covered in dirt as he carries on and sweat too, thanks to the merciless sun.

 

Kibum digs until he has amassed more burdock than he can feasibly carry, but he’s still frustrated and the prospect of tramping back in the heat only to be rewarded with the difficult task of making up with Darwin does not appeal at all.

 

Fuck it, Kibum thinks. Minho’s just buggered off somewhere and Darwin is pretending to be mute; why does he always have to be the reasonable, responsible one?

 

So instead of going back, he takes a hike to the stream. Having both pockets full of burdock doesn’t make the hike easier, but in the end it’s worth it. He wasn’t exaggerating when he described it to Darwin earlier. The gentle flow of the water plays like silver bells even before he comes into sight of the stream. Somehow, the air is lighter here; the heat less oppressive. There is a pleasant scent in the air, one that reminds him of freshly cut grass.

 

Praying that his luck holds out, Kibum strips down to his underwear and takes a bath in the cool waters. As much as it is going to suck walking back with wet underwear, there’s no way he’s going to risk running into those things buck naked.

 

Alone, his mind turns to Minho.

 

They used to come to this stream. They would take turns to bathe and keep watch. Minho would always ramble on about how they should follow the stream upriver one day and then maybe they’d find other people who hadn’t been affected, like them.

 

He misses Minho so much, and yet, not enough.

 

It’s like a constant headache. It’s there every second of every day, but he’s learnt to push it aside to function. Everything in his very small world reminds him of the generous, loving friend who shared that world with him.

 

But Minho deserves more than that. Minho, who always gave his all in everything he did, deserves epic grief; floods of tears, the rending of clothes, wailing and ranting at the heavens. He deserves more than the nothing Kibum has given him.

 

Kibum sighs and dips his head underwater. The cool water washes over him, drowning out his thoughts, but he can only hold his breath for so long.

 

He’s been so busy taking care of Darwin that he hasn’t even searched for Minho lately. It’s as if he’s easily replaced Minho with Darwin. Minho deserves better than that.

 

And Darwin deserves better too. Now that his anger has been washed away, Kibum feels ashamed about the way he reacted to Darwin in the morning. His reaction was more of a response to his own guilt and insecurities than it was to Darwin’s innocent trespassing.

 

For the first time that day, Kibum laughs. He must seem like such a bipolar lunatic to the poor kid.

 

**Chaldene**

 

The sun is setting by the time home comes into sight. Kibum heaves a heavy sigh of relief, finally allowing his tired legs to slow. He can’t believe how careless he had been at the stream, to simply luxuriate in the water with no regard for time as if he weren’t living in some dystopian nightmare.

 

Poor Darwin must be hungry. Worried, too, Kibum guesses; at least, he would be if their positions were reversed.

 

The door is unlocked. Unbarricaded.

 

Kibum’s heart sinks, its weight unbearable.

 

He whips out his Swiss army knife, that tiny pathetic thing he has had to rely on after he lost his hunting knife, and pushes the door open.

 

Nothing looks out of place.

 

The mattress is in the middle of the hall, sheets neatly folded on top of it. Another pile is next to it.

 

Darwin’s clothes, the ones Kibum had asked him to wash and dry.

 

The bathroom door is ajar, emptiness yawning out.

 

The kitchen is untouched, the back undisturbed.

 

There is no sign of Darwin or Eve.

 

**Pallene**

 

If burdock roots could talk, these ones would laugh at him. He can’t eat them raw and he can’t be faffing about in the kitchen with no lights, so there’s nothing to do but to put them in the empty pot and stare at them. It’s so frustrating to live like this, like a caveman, bound by the sun and whims of nature.

 

Lonely and hungry, Kibum curls up on the mattress and hopes that sleep, at least, will give him some respite. It feels too large, too empty, for his body to rest. Minho wasn’t much of a cuddler, but Darwin was, and Kibum misses them both so badly it aches like a physical wound.

 

Something creaks.

 

Kibum ignores it. The house is old and large and full of things that creak all the time. He’d learnt long ago not to jump at every little sound it makes.

 

Then he hears it again, in the same place.

 

It’s still not cause for alarm, but now Kibum is alert.

 

This time, it’s a different sound, like rats skittering; it’s very much the sound of something moving rather than an old house creaking.

 

Kibum stands up, panicking. There are no rats here. He’s never heard this sound before. And whatever is making it is alive – or was.

 

The Swiss army knife in his hand feels wholly inadequate. Kibum curses himself for not taking a knife from the kitchen earlier. Maybe he was wrong to assume that Darwin and Eve left by choice, or that they left at all. It’s too bad that this realisation is coming too late.

 

A rattle. A loud, purposeful rattle. It’s in the ceiling right above the room, and it’s trying to get in.

 

With his heart hammering wildly in his chest, Kibum backs away from the source of the sound. Should he make a run for it, he wonders.

 

The ceiling opens. Kibum’s knees nearly give way. He’s lived here for so long and he hadn’t even realised that there was a secret door on the ceiling, what an idiot he has been.

 

Something moves out of the darkness of the ceiling, two long, pale things.

 

Arms, Kibum realises, holding some large, wriggling rodent.

 

It’s like something from a horror movie; disembodied, spectral arms unleashing eldritch horrors into a badly lit room with a cornered protagonist. Kibum would run, but his legs feel like jelly. He’s not even sure if he can find the strength to swing his knife at the thing.

 

The wriggling rodent drops to the ground and runs right at Kibum. He readies himself to be mauled and raises his knife. It yips – a happy sound – and that’s when Kibum recognises the creature, the one he’d been so scared of, as Eve. Not a moment later, Darwin’s head peeks out of the hole in the ceiling, his long red hair giving him away instantly.

 

All of a sudden, Kibum feels exhausted. He’s relieved, yes, but he can’t take much more excitement like this before his heart or sanity gives out altogether. Absent-mindedly, he puts his knife away and pets Eve, giving the little dog the attention he’s begging for while his heart rate finds its way back to normal.

 

Darwin gracefully drops from the ceiling and goes to the pot first, brows scrunching in confusion when he sees the still-covered-in-earth burdock roots instead of dinner.

 

“Yah, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Kibum’s voice comes out far less authoritative than he would like; he’s still recovering from fright. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

 

At least Darwin has the good grace to look sheepish.

 

“Did you break the ceiling?”

 

Darwin pulls an exasperated face, as if the question isn’t a reasonable one. When Kibum doesn’t give, he shakes his head and tugs Kibum’s hand and pulls him right under the opening, and now Kibum can see that it’s actually an trapdoor that leads to the roof. It must have been made to allow workers to access the plumbing or electrical works. Kibum supposes that if he were left alone in an empty house all day long with nothing to do, this would be the sort of thing he’d discover as well.

 

Darwin climbs on the dresser and hauls himself up into the opening.

 

“Okay, I get it. Can you come back now?”

 

Apparently, Kibum doesn’t get it, because Darwin drops through and tugs at his arm again, pointing at the trapdoor. Kibum has half a mind to tell him to use his words when he finally understands what the other wants.

 

“Oh, no way. It’s not safe. You shouldn’t have gone up there and I have no interest in stumbling about the dark.”

 

Darwin tugs his arm again, more insistently.

 

“Look, we can go up together tomorrow, okay?”

 

Darwin shakes his head, insistent.

 

“I have to see it tonight?” Kibum asks, to clarify, and Darwin nods eagerly. Kibum sighs; Darwin really has him wrapped around his little finger, seeing how Kibum is actually contemplating climbing up into the roof with him. He doesn’t know what’s so interesting about plumbing or non-functional electrical lines that Darwin has to show him right now, but if it’ll appease him Kibum is willing to play along. As long as Darwin doesn’t show him a family of rats or something, he’ll be fine.

 

“Fine, you go first, I’ll follow.”

 

It’s endearing, the way Darwin’s face lights up when he says that. Little fucker, Kibum thinks, getting his way just because he’s cute. He quells his fear of the dark and hoists himself through the trapdoor after Darwin.

 

Pitch darkness.

 

That’s all there is. Kibum freezes, dropping to his hands and knees. “Hey, maybe this isn’t such a good idea-” he says, when he hears shuffling and a clammy hand pats his shoulder, searching its way to his wrist. He waits, bemused, until he’s tugged forward. He allows Darwin to lead him like this, the two of them crawling through the secret space like moles.

 

Being deprived of sight, Kibum’s other senses grow stronger. He can smell dust; old dust, the sort that has been undisturbed for years until it forms a cottony blanket over everything. He can hear every sound their movements make; the scrape of their clothed knees over the wooden flooring, their breaths, the quiet tap of Darwin’s fingernails on wood as he finds his way to whatever he’s looking for.

 

Because of his heightened sensitivity, Kibum smells the change in the air – it’s sharper, lighter – before he sees the skylight, cracked open, revealing a sliver of the night sky.

 

He freezes, panicked, before he regains his senses and pulls his hand out of Darwin’s grasp. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he hisses, aware that the sound of his voice might carry outside. “Do you think we barricade the doors and windows for fun? Close that thing now, it’s not safe!”

 

Darwin doesn’t listen to his warning. He finds Kibum’s hand again and pulls at him, gently, as if he’s trying to coax a frightened animal out of its hiding place. Kibum hates this, being patronised by a boy who doesn’t understand that Kibum’s only survived this long because he’s so careful.

 

He almost yanks his hand out of Darwin’s grasp again, ready to go back down, when a voice at the back of his head stops him. Is it worth it, it asks, to have been so careful? To outlive Minho? To live in a self-imposed cage? If these are really his last days, how does he want to live them?

 

He allows Darwin to lead him out.

 

The skylight creaks when Darwin pushes it open; its hinges have rusted from disuse. The rood outside slopes gently, so his shaking legs find solid purchase. Darwin only walks a step or two away from the skylight and sits down, patting the space next to him.

 

Kibum sits. He’s terrified, afraid to look up from the roof or his knees, and he can feel his breaths coming quicker and quicker. His instincts are screaming at him; that he’s out in the open, that he can be seen, that he’s going to die. But a second passes, and then another. And another and nothing happens. Kibum finds the strength to take a few deep breaths, to release the tension in his limbs and slow his racing heart.

 

The air is sweet. That’s the first thing he really notices. It’s light and sweet, and he takes a deeper breath. The air in the house is trapped and still, and a little smoky from the small fire he keeps for light and warmth, but out here, the air is cool and refreshing.

 

Now, he dares look up. It’s surprising how much light there is. He can see Darwin clearly. He can see down the side of the house, into the wet kitchen he goes to when he wants a moment of peace and over it’s walls into the shrubbery outside the house. He can see the forest caping the hill and the highway, circling it, that leads into town. And beyond that, he can see the dark, glittering waters of the sea, where it merges with the night sky.

 

Kibum looks up. The sky is scattered with an abundance of stars, like someone spilled an entire bucket of paint over a dark canvass. It’s breathtakingly beautiful. It’s the Milky Way, he realises absently, understanding now why it was named thus. It stretches above them, vast, and yet it feels like he can touch it if he finds a tree that's tall enough. 

 

How long he stares up, Kibum doesn’t know, but when he finally brings himself back to earth, Darwin is there, looking at him with such fondness that Kibum can’t bear to meet his eyes.

 

“Thank you,” he chokes out. It’s such an inadequate phrase for his gratitude, for this gift that Darwin has given him, but he doesn’t have anything else to say.

 

Darwin shifts closer, until they’re shoulder to shoulder, and they sit together in companiable silence. No words are needed to appreciate the beauty of the world they’re lucky enough to see.

 

Which is why Kibum almost misses it when Darwin does speak.

 

“My name is Taemin.” Kibum turns to look at him, but Darwin’s – Taemin’s – gaze is fixed in the distance. His cheeks are flushed, as if he’s embarrassed.

 

Kibum nods, making sure that Taemin can see him. He wants to know why Taemin waited so long to speak to him, why he kept his silence when it almost got him killed, but those are questions for a different time.

 

“I thought I was the only one left,” Taemin says. “Me and Eve. I’m… I’m so happy that you found me. I know I’ve caused you a lot of trouble, and I’ve taken up so much resources-”

 

Kibum wraps his arm around Taemin’s shoulders, silencing him. “I’m glad I found you too, despite the whole stabbing thing.”

 

“Is it okay if I stay with you?”

 

Kibum’s only known Taemin for a few days, but he knows his heart would break if Taemin were to leave. He knows that Taemin is the only reason he’s survived so long after Minho’s disappearance. In time, he knows, he’ll come to value Taemin’s life as much as his own. There is nothing in this world that would get him to say no. But to Taemin, he just says “That would make me very happy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya everyone! 
> 
>  
> 
> this was a fun little fic to write. as always, do leave a comment to let me know what you think, what worked and what didn't etc. 
> 
>  
> 
> love, 
> 
>  
> 
> sherleigh


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